The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(123)

Fifteen minutes into their task, Jenkins’s cell phone rang. Caller ID did not identify the caller or the number. Jenkins almost ignored the call, thinking it was another person seeking an interview, or a writer calling to ask whether Jenkins was interested in telling his story. He wasn’t, not yet.

“Hello?” he said.

“Mr. Jenkins.”

Jenkins recognized the accent. “Viktor,” he said.

“You are a hard man to track down.”

“I’ve had to screen my calls.” Jenkins stepped away so CJ would not hear his conversation. The young boy glanced at him, still not completely trusting that his dad would not be taken away again. Jenkins smiled and gave CJ a thumbs-up, and the boy returned his attention to reeling in his lure.

“I followed with great interest the news of your trial. It seemed as though I was reading about a trial here, in Russia, where the truth would never be allowed to come out. I am happy you were found not guilty.”

“Thank you,” Jenkins said.

“So you see, again I say that your country and mine are not so different.”

Jenkins smiled. “How do you like working for your brother?”

“I decided is not for me. There is too much red tape, and that is coming from someone who worked for the government.” Viktor laughed.

“What will you do?”

“I’m private detective,” Federov said. “So far I have one client. I thought you might like to know about my first case.”

“Why is that?” Jenkins asked.

“Because I believe you know the man I tracked down.”

“Who would that be?”

“He served as your station chief in Mexico City, and more recently he worked in Washington, DC. Your trial helped me to find him.”

Jenkins felt a lump in his throat.

“You see, Mr. Jenkins, though I joke, Russia is not United States. In Russia, we have long memories, and justice is always served, if not one way then another.”

“What do you mean, Viktor?”

“Follow your news. I assume they will cover it soon.”

Jenkins thought of his statement to Alex, that he wanted Carl Emerson to pay for his crimes here and now, rather than in the afterlife.

“Do you have pen or pencil and paper?” Federov asked.

“Why?” Jenkins asked.

“I want to give you some numbers.”

“Hang on,” Jenkins said. He went to the tackle box, found the back of a lure package and the stub of a pencil.

“Okay, go ahead.”

He expected ten digits—a phone number—but he got more than that.

“What is it?” Jenkins asked. “Not a phone number.”

“It is the number to a Swiss bank account. I opened it in your name.”

“In my name? Why would you open an account in my name?”

“Because you were my client.”

“Me?”

“Okay, so I have two clients—you and me, and I thought you deserved the money almost as much as me. I decided on sixty-forty, because I did all the work.” Viktor again laughed.

“Viktor, if this is the money Carl Emerson stole, I can’t keep it.”

“No, Mr. Jenkins, I didn’t think you would. I believe you are a man of much integrity. But the money was not stolen. It is money paid by Russia.”

“Emerson was the leak.”

“Leak? I know nothing of leak unless it is below my sink.”

“How much money are we talking about?” Jenkins said, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Enough,” Viktor said. “Enough for everything our two governments have put us through. No?”

“I can’t take that money,” Jenkins said. It was blood money. It was money given to Emerson that had cost three of the seven sisters their lives.

“It is there, Mr. Jenkins. What you choose to do with it is your business. And now I must be going. I fear our meeting again will not happen.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Jenkins said. “We both know lives can change in an instant, and in ways neither of us ever could have imagined.”

Viktor laughed long and loud. “Then until we meet, I will be drinking to your good health. Boo-deem zdarovov.”

CJ yelled, “Dad! Dad! I think I have a fish.”

Jenkins disconnected and slipped his phone in his jacket pocket. CJ’s line was in one spot, not moving. “Let me see.” He took the fishing pole, still thinking of what Federov had told him. “I think it’s just a snag, CJ.”

“Really?” the boy said, disappointed.

Jenkins pointed the tip of the pole at the snag and yanked the lure free. He handed the pole back to his son. “Reel it in and cast again.”

“Let’s just go in,” CJ said. “We’re not going to catch anything.”

Jenkins put a hand on top of the boy’s head. “You’re going to get a lot of snags in life, CJ, but you can’t let the snags keep you from trying. You keep trying and eventually you’ll catch something big again.”

“You really think so?”

“Charlie? Charlie!”

Alex called out to him from the porch. Everyone else had gone inside. “You’re going to want to come up and watch the news. You’re never going to believe it. David is taping it.”